


Kiln

by plsnskanks (orphan_account)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, so i had to get this out of my system, wow im still not over the dva short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 05:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15901473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/plsnskanks
Summary: Just fluff about Hana and Brigitte because oof they warm my soul





	Kiln

The soft yellow sunlight streaming in hits her face as she moves herself into the light to get a better look at what she is dealing with. Her hair is this light auburn that falls in waves and reminds her of autumn and the dusting of freckles on her face remind Hana of the old wives’ tale that every freckle is an angel’s kiss.

Well. They had a field day with Brigitte and who can blame them.

She works diligently, her hands are rather big, but then again, Brigitte herself is rather big. In fact, everything about her is. Her personality, her smile, the very atmosphere about her. 

Hana has felt those hands in hers and traced the rough callouses. Her hands have a few, sure, but nothing compared to the ones on Brigitte’s.

Some might call them ugly, the little yellowish welts that rise up in soft swells from her hands. Hana likes them, they tell stories, much like the smooth white and soft pinks of the scars on Brigitte’s shoulders. Sometimes, between missions, late at night when everyone is either in bed or milling around elsewhere, they sit out late at the camp fire and she unearths the stories of her scars.

She likes Brigitte, and the warriors grace she has in telling her stories. She is never melodramatic, but rather tells the stories in such a way that Hana could imagine her dealing them out in a bawdy tavern over the roaring laughter of seasoned men and women, amongst the low rumble of casual hearty conversation.

The stories are never really about her or her thoughts, they’re about the world and its grand scope. Tales of wayward strangers and far off lands. With Brigitte, the stories everyone writes off as children’s tales come alive and breath for the narrow time she gives them life.

Sometimes a thread of hair comes loose while she is telling the stories and Hana always loves that she never stops to brush it back, never takes the time to smooth out her image as she continues slinging her way through whatever story, or myth, or spook tale she has caught herself up in the animated enthusiasm of spinning together the elaborate web that is the atmosphere of a skilled story teller.

Hana sees her for the first time on the battlefield, and isn’t that a sight.  
All though her face is soft, with doe eyes and framed with gentle falling waves of well groomed tresses of hair, she has this air about her when she tilts her head up to look down haughtily. It is less the gaze of an empress or anyone of any lofty sort of position, but rather the unsettling steadiness of someone who is battle hardened and knows how to expel every last ounce of their raging desire to compete, to fight, to win on the battlefield in a precise and driven manner. The sun catches her shield and bounces off it, making her mere approach seem blinding and larger than life.

So it is that look Hana finds herself petrified under.

She finds herself devoid of her mech, running down a narrow alley with an enemy Junkrat hot in pursuit and its with one well placed explosive she is sent sprawling onto her back, scrambling backwards as fast as she can as she watches his steady approach.

As he is about on her the golden tail of Brigitte’s flail wraps around him and the smaller Junker finds himself firmly ingrained in the alley wall before Bridgette releases him to scamper off into some gutter. She looks at her then a long moment, before offering her hand.

Hana takes it and finds herself unsteady on her feet. Brigitte draws her near.

“Let’s get you back to base before someone on the other team gives you an expedited ticket there,” Brigette says flashing her a sardonic smile.

That’s how they meet.

Their friendship comes from long hours in the shop and stolen glances at each other’s equipment until inevitably they were giving each other long winded, yet fascinating explanations on the ins and outs of their suits respectively.

Soon they’re flicking towels at each other in the showers, and exchanging texts seemingly nonstop, and where one of them is the other is soon to follow. Up at the same hours, down in whatever nook or cranny of their base together as well too. Whether it is in the cafeteria for late night snacks, or the mech shop to scope out new arrivals or parse parts, or terrorizing each other just for the hell of it.

Their relationship… well Hana isn’t really quiet sure how it starts. Only she finds her hands lingering on passing her tools, and when she feels Brigitte combing through her hair she finds herself thinking of other situations, and when Brigitte asks why her face is so red she is anything but forthcoming about what those other situations would happen to be.

It’s only when she saves a mission narrowly by blocking a cap with a well timed ult and then holding off enemies with her scant weapons after that, as she stands out of breath, winded, but alive with the thrill of a hard fought victory. Brigitte barrels her way over to her and lifts her off of her feet and for a moment she thinks that this is it, as she looks at her with those warm brown eyes and smile that could outshine any star in the sky and with the light laugh lines and soft dimples and all together her face is something she wishes she could just cup and-

Hana thinks she is going to kiss her.

But at the last moment she moves to plant it on her cheek, or well, somewhere between her cheek and the corner of her mouth.

So with the same kind of reckless abandon that got her into Overwatch in the first place, Hana course corrects her and plants one firmly on Brigitte’s mouth.

Then she is the one with that haughty stare of an adversary making a challenge on a worthy foe. And Brigitte’s smile is much the same in return.

And that’s how it ends up feeling, like a competition, a challenge, a battle to the death with no lose state but merely higher highs, soaring, flying, rocketing highs, with Brigitte always there at her finger tips.

They’re working on each other’s suits listening to the radio one moment and then casting wrenches aside to dance to their favorite song the next. At the start of a mission Hana is leaping out of Brigitte’s room and setting off at a dead run to beat her to the field, laughing as she feels a slap on the ass as her height advantaged girlfriend outpaces her.

Holding hands under the table, refusing to go rest until the other was cleared their post mission med evaluations, swapping hairstyles, trading clothes, giving each other extra portions from their dinner when the cafeteria is serving their favorite food.

Hana sees her there, auburn hair tied into a tight ponytail with her baseball cap resting lightly atop, tight black shirt that reveals well-muscled biceps that she knows from experience can lift her clear off the ground, easily, and jacket in a firm knot at her waist, covering shapely hips that lead down to well-toned thighs and godly calves, and she can’t decide whether or not she loves her girlfriend more in her clothes or out of them but god.

She loves her.


End file.
